


You're the Blood to My Lust & I'm the Cut to Your Throat

by savagepierce



Category: UnREAL (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5883454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savagepierce/pseuds/savagepierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel Goldberg, one of the star producers - if not most disastrous - goes missing on the set of Everlasting. Quinn isn't about to let her escape from her grasp so easily however. What starts off as a simple search mission quickly evolves into something much more complicated than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first time writing for the Unreal fandom and I plan on making this piece a multi-chaptered one. It's an AU story about Quinn King & Rachel Goldberg so expect turbulence, explicit content, and two awesome female anti-heroes getting it on at some point or other, and how these two are driven to some rather terrifying extremes.
> 
> This is not canon! It's definitely canon-divergent.
> 
> Reviews would be greatly appreciated, if it sucks I probably won't go on so let me know if you're interested in having the story continued!

"Where's Rachel?" 

Her voice is sharp, clear-cut, and unmistakable. It shatters silence like broken glass and makes the hair on the back of everyone's neck stands up.

"Why don't you put a bell around her neck?" Jay quips through a mouth of french fries, one of which Quinn snatches off his plate before her talons sink into the back of his shirt jerking him back in front of her and spilling half of his lunch on the floor in the process.

Quinn makes a noise like a buzzer, a screechy **loud** noise that would blare red if you could see sound. " **Wrong answer** , let's play again." She etches crescent moons into his shoulder blades, nails biting and terse, it's clear her mood is hardly one for coy pretenses. "You've been circling her twat ever since she got back. Start talkin' pretty boy or you can start _walking_ instead." 

"Alright, jeez, _someone_ had her bitch flakes this morning. Last I saw her she was in that beaten up van she calls home, it was a couple hours ago." Quinn loosens her grip and he scowls at her.

"See? Now that wasn't so hard was it?" Her heel sinks into the fleshy underbelly of his burger now strewn on the ground as she waltzes out of the room and out the backdoor, pausing only to shout, "And clean that up!" - Over her shoulder.

At any given moment Quinn was scrutinizing her surroundings, constantly on edge, looking for a glimpse of inspiration or a shimmer of a quick cash grab, ratings ploy, blackmail fodder, -- you name it. There was very little that went unnoticed by the executive producer. The pasty brunette being spray tanned in the parking lot was the first thing in her eye-line, that and the cottage cheese skin clinging to her too small bikini bottoms.

"Whoa! What's with all the cellulite? This isn't _The Biggest Loser_ people, let's put the _tuck_ back in _Everlasting_." Mentally Quinn noted to make sure that girl was in the _back_ of any scenes they used her in.

Attention then shifted back to finding her loose canon of a producer, Rachel Goldberg. The girl she'd been _sticking_ her neck out for against all reason. Quinn continued to justify that the only reason she was hellbent on keeping Rachel in line was because she was the best at her job -- well, next to herself of course.

Either way, it didn't matter. _Rachel_ was what she needed for _Everlasting_ to succeed, and _Rachel_ is what she would get. Whether the bitch liked it or not, _that_ part wasn't her problem. Hollywood wasn't the place you went to find happy endings after all, not if you weren't willing to step on a pile of bodies to produce one yourself. No one that had gotten their fairytale ending in the hallowed hills of fame had gotten there without crushing a few skulls in the process.

Quinn had eyes on Rachel's makeshift "home", just a few yards from her current standing place but with plenty of potential obstacles in her way.

No more than three seconds had passed by before some incompetent intern with their headset on backwards was approaching her. Kid was mousy, with eyes the same color as his lackluster hair. He was stammering already and he'd barely even formed so much as a consonant, his skin a milky white and quickly draining him of color the longer he was in Quinn's presence.

She tended to have that effect on people. 

He had a tray of coffees in one hand and a clipboard in the other, his sweaty palms causing him to bluster his way between both unable to decide which was of higher importance. Either way the malfunctioning in his brain seemed to stop altogether as all four steaming lattes crashed to the ground, scalding Quinn's calf and causing her to curse loudly and everyone in the vicinity to look on. A dramatic hush following the way they always did whenever Quinn was about to pop a blood vessel. 

The unnerving thing about Quinn King losing her temper was that you didn't _see_ it so much as you **felt** it. There was rarely an explosion, a bursting volcano, a tornado of a person -- instead it was more like a noxious poison, asphyxiating you from the inside. The stone cold glare, the snake of a smirk, and then the venom dripping from her lips as she hit you where it hurt.

Immediately, he started apologizing, "S-sorry, oh god..I am so sorry, it's my second day I just -- some guys t-t-told me to a-a-sk you for...sorry, b-b-roll? I-I..."

She let him squirm on the end of her hook for a few prolonged moments before forcing him under the water, "-- _Let_ me save you the trouble of pissing your pants in public, and _me_ the trouble of hiring a gibberish translator and just say you're _done_ for the day. I don't have _time_ for this."

He looked relieved, a little color returning to his cheeks. "Thank y-you so much Quin--I mean, Mrs. K-King, Ms. King...b-boss...I promise tomorrow I --"

" _Tomorrow_?" The question is punctuated with short, punchy laughter. "Oh no Arnold, there is no _tomorrow_ for you. _Partly_ because I'm in a bad mood, and partly because I don't like people that are _weak_ but, take it from me, I'm doing you a favor. I just think you'd be better suited to a more... _slow_ _paced_ job."

She offered him one doting smile and a pat on the arm, "And Arnold--"

"A-actually...it's Larry..." 

"Well, that's even worse isn't it? When's the last time you heard of a successful man named _Larry_? I suggest you go back home to _wherever_ it is you came from and get a nice, _safe_ job like a cashier or a _janitor_. Find a woman with no standards and gently fuck her once a week. Maybe someone that will hold you when you cry yourself to sleep at night. Hell, pop out a kid or two...and hey! _Maybe_ you'll even get lucky and one of them will hit the talent branch that you missed and that'll make  _your_ pathetic life worthwhile.  _That_ to me, Larry, seems much more... _your_ _speed_."

Quinn squeezed his arm in mock reassurance, he seemed shellshocked and on the verge of vomiting -- before turning sharply towards crew members crowding the craft table. " _Well_? What the hell are you waiting for? Get me some damn napkins!"

She didn't need a whip to crack, just the sound of her yelling was enough to hit the play button again and send everyone scurrying. Within seconds there was a wad of paper towels shoved into her hand and a bottle of Evian. Once Quinn had cleaned off the remnants of _Larry's_ dignity from her heels she was once again off to find the ever elusive Rachel Goldberg.

The van she'd been living out of had a door open when Quinn reached it. Wrenching it back of the hinges she climbed inside, muttering angrily under her breath as she did so.

Her nose wrinkled at the scent of stale, unwashed blankets, an old half eaten piece of pizza, and the muskiness of sex that always seemed to follow Rachel around. Pungent and dirty, just like her. Quinn had sometimes wondered what she was like in bed out of sheer curiosity. Rachel never seemed the type to like clean-cut vanilla _lovemaking_ ; she had to like being fucked _raw_ , the kind of sex where you wrenched your panties to the side and sat on a dick, or rolled on your stomach and gripped the carpet while taking it from behind, Rachel was _anything_ but a nice girl no matter how bad she wanted to be.

Quinn knew that better than anyone.

 

"Rachel what did you do, crawl in here and die?"

The space was small so it became clear to Quinn quickly that Rachel wasn't in there. She gave a frustrated sigh before turning around to leave, pausing only when her shoe crunched on a balled up piece of paper tucked into the corner. Eyes narrowed, Quinn sat down on the edge of the van and opened it. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

_By the time you read this, Quinn, I'll be dead. That's right, somewhere even YOU can't get to me. I told you I was done. ~~I meant it this time. Call me a cowa~~_

_I can't help but smile picturing your face when you read this. At least my corpse will be pretty. ~~That should make you proud~~_

_~~By the way~~ _

_~~I h~~ _ _Don't bother trying to stop me. It's already too late._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You _stupid_ fucking **bitch**."

Fisting the paper in her palm, Quinn felt a rage boiling inside like a kettle about to burst. The viper finally poised to strike, the lit match forcing her over the edge. After _everything_ she'd done for that girl and Rachel thought she could escape _that_ easily?

Rachel thought _Hell_ was some place that she couldn't reach.

As if wrought iron throne smack dab in that circle of hellfire hadn't been sculpted with Quinn's ass in mind.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's discovered Rachel's suicide note, but the question is whether or not she bought it. Still hellbent on finding her best producer, will Quinn get there in time to save her? Does Rachel need saving? Does she even want it? (TW: Suicide Mentions)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up getting super inspired for a second chapter so hopefully you guys like it and want me to continue! I've got a few ideas of which direction things are going to go in but should be interesting! Any comments/kudos are always greatly appreciated of course!

Three thousand two hundred and eighty three. 

That's how many revolutions the ceiling fan had made in the span of time that Rachel had been lying on her mother's bed.

_Well_ , give or take.

Tiny purple pills winked at her from her mother's nightstand. They lay in disarray like petals of a hydrangea, taunting endlessly about her failure.

She'd failed at just about every other aspect of her life she wasn't sure why she'd expected death to be any different. 

Rachel's mother was gone for the weekend, away at some therapist convention. She knew her mother could never pass up an opportunity to stand at a podium and preach to the desperate masses about self-help like she was some new age _messiah_. All those pathetic people that thought self-help books and five-step guides were all you needed to spend the rest of your life in bliss, as if you'd suddenly start puking rainbows into your breakfast and chowing down on the recipe for happiness.

In Rachel's opinion, therapists were some of the most insidious con artists of all. They were the ones that got to dictate whether or not you were fucked up and if so -- to what degree? Could you be in public? Did you need to be _detained_?

_Everyone_ was fucked up; some people were just better at hiding it than others.

* * *

 

Rachel had known Quinn would show up even before she heard her stampeding through the foyer.

There was something intrinsic about Quinn that drove out this primal need to submit. Rachel wasn't sure exactly what did it, but it happened every time. Quinn approached and suddenly she was a shrinking violet, her spine curving inwards as if Quinn was some demented puppet master yanking her string with that tight smile.

Rachel listened to Quinn's feet, counting the steps it took for her to reach the landing at the top of the stairs.

Rachel didn't even bother to move.

Instead, she kept on counting the rotations of the fan puttering away overhead. A vague memory unearthed itself of when she was a kid. She'd have a nightmare and slide into her mother's bed. Back then the fan hadn't been so soothing, the faint ticking sound seemed like a countdown to an impending doom. Like some terrible a monster would soon unsheathe its pearly whites and rip her in half, leaving her bloodied abdomen strewn across these white cotton sheets. 

In this updated nightmare, Quinn could be the monster. Yet this time, Rachel wasn't scared. She might have even been the _tiniest_ bit excited. If anyone could make her death devastating and memorable all at once it was Quinn King.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me!? _A suicide note_? What are you a thirteen-year-old getting _cyber bullied_? Need I remind you of **everything** I've done to pull your scrawny ass out of exile and get you your job back, and _this_ is the thanks I get?"

Rachel thumbed the lacquer on one of the pills, marveling at the way it looked. So perfect, and cute, inviting like candy. Yet she hadn't swallowed a single one. "How'd you know I wasn't dead?" She asks the question lazily, she had known that Quinn would know she was fine. In reality, Rachel wasn't exactly sure why she'd done it.

Half of her was hoping Quinn wouldn't find her and she'd finally be free. Free to do what? That part she didn't know, move somewhere -- **anywhere** else.

Another half of her was hoping she would actually find the strength to go through with it.

"Oh please, you're too dramatic and stubborn to die by your own hand. Face it _babe_ , you may _think_ you want out of this business, but you're _tailor fucking made_. That's what makes you so damn good at your job. You just need to stop thinking of your negative qualities as a **_bad_** thing."

Quinn was hard to read like this. Rachel knew her anger hadn't ebbed, that the furor of her temper wouldn't truly hit her until she was lured into a false sense of security.

Twas the nature of the beast.

There was no use trying to fight it. Quinn could peel you open, layer by layer until you were just strings of muscle and tissue and she had you vulnerable and open like an expert surgeon, knowing the exact places to cut.

Until you were **thanking** her for destroying you.

 

* * *

 

Hence why Rachel chose to submit. Despite her lies and half-hearted attempts to seek death, she was a survivor, and surviving Quinn meant giving in to her demands.

The mattress sank as Quinn's body found its home akin to Rachel. Quinn in a poised coffin pose and Rachel with her arms and legs starfishing across the bed, one ankle hanging lackadaisical off the edge of the bed -- its angle contorted and rather grotesque as if it were broken. The puppeteer and her marionette.

"Why, of all places, would you come visit _Mommie Dearest_?"

Rachel shrugged. Crushing the pill she'd been playing with into fine powder and blowing out off the palm of her hand, watching it separate in the filmy rays of sunlight like she'd made a wish on some deadly daffodil. "I knew she'd have some old prescription bottles lying around."

Cheekily, she angles her face to Quinn's for the first time, "Or maybe just for dramatic effect."

That earns her a smile. A small, frigid one, but a smile nonetheless.

"If there was anyone out there that could do this job even _half_ as well as you could, you would be eating soup out of a flea bitten baseball cap in a homeless shelter by now. You know that don't you?"

Silence. A dear friend of theres, never awkward, always heavy, somewhere in between solace and unease. Rachel let it linger.

"Don't you ever get tired of it Quinn?"

"Tired of what? Being _rich_? Building an _empire_? Making myself one of the hottest commodities in Hollywood?" 

"Ruining lives. Debasing people...finding that one block in the Jenga tower of their lives and fucking _wrenching_ it out to watch the rest crumble. Being a _bitch_."

She hears a quiet snort from the left side of the bed. "Don't be **naive** Rachel. This entire country was built on the backs of _bitches_ just like us. Behind every male leader out there is a woman yanking his chain, putting him in the doghouse when he steps out of line, whispering sweet nothings into his ear when she's got his dick in her hand. You want to survive out there? You _woman_ the fuck up. You know as well as I do that what we do takes raw talent. Unspooling emotions is a hell of a lot harder than giving someone a broken jaw." She speaks so matter-of-fact there's no use arguing with her, Rachel's not even sure she disagrees.

"Being manipulative like this, being cruel -- it's just _who you are_. There's no point in denying it. Besides, I like you better when you're breaking hearts. This self-deprecating bullshit has to stop." The terseness is back, Rachel senses the flare in her temper like slow burning candle. Sometimes it flickers and flares and sometimes it's soft and dim, Quinn could incinerate her in seconds if she wanted to.

Sometimes Rachel  _did_ want her to.

_Sometimes thats what put her to bed at night, the thought of Quinn's nails rasping at her throat, the sallow lily white of her neck bruised and bloodies just by the force of Quinn's hands wrapped so tight around her throat..._  

"Are you even _listening_!? Jesus Goldberg, if I didn't know any better I'd say you really _were_ dead." Rachel blinked, Quinn's face hovering over hers, nothing but animosity, regret, -- mild disgust glowering down at her. Within seconds the power balance had shifted sharply, Quinn always in control but now domineering, now _forceful_ and _aggressive_ , her hand coming down sharply to lay rest in a favorite spot, just under the juncture of Rachel's jaw in a possessive hold on her chin to jerk her face upwards so their eyes were leering directly into one another. 

"You know, as fun as these little games can be, I've grown tired of cleaning up your messes, chasing your ass around, constantly trying to figure _**what**_ is going on in that pinhead of yours that makes you think you can pull one over on **_me_**." Quinn hissed, Rachel drowning in silence, a torrid flux of feelings fighting for control in the pit of her belly. Torn between an equal level of anger, sheer bitterness, and something like arousal.

"I think you need to do something for _me_. Something to prove to me that your head is in the fucking game and that you're that same old Rachel I can _count_ on. I need you to prove your _loyalty_ for once in your goddamned life, Goldberg. Do you think you can do that?"

There wasn't much of an option aside from nodding. Quinn's grip was iron clad, a bruising force on her jawline, her cheeks squished upwards in an almost mocking way. Looking up at her right then, in the midst of this unrelenting violence, this _unyielding_ chaos, all Rachel could see was the harshness in Quinn's gaze, something like sheer hatred and absolute _obsession_. Quinn was as wound up in Rachel as she was in Quinn, two parts to one terrible whole. The _sickness_ was not kindness either, this was not a _ploy_ for affection this was **ownership** and _dominance_ , **assertion** of her prize. She had culled and shaped Rachel like some sickly stray kitten and now she wanted her _penance_ she needed her drone to **serve**.

"I _said_ , do you think you can do that, _Rachel_?"

The force of her hand became almost crushing, Rachel nodded slow, tediously slow.  

"Yes. I can do that... _Quinn_." 

Death might have been sweet, but oh god, this was sweeter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit of a filler one, just to set up whats going to be happening next in the story so sorry about that! Also apologies for the wait but I don't think it'll take me as long to do the next one. Thanks for the feedback it's really appreciated! I hope you guys will look forward to whats to come ;)

"Good." Quinn had expected as much but to hear Rachel confirm brought its own kind of pleasure. She gave Rachel a subtle yet not so gentle pat on the cheek before clambering out of bed and smoothing out her pencil skirt.

As of yet, Rachel hadn't asked exactly _what_ her little mission would entail, but Quinn could see it on her face that she wanted to. Teetering on the edge of deliberation and flat out begging, her lips were puckered to force back any further questions. Quinn did nothing to help the matter, she was perfectly happy to let the other woman suffer for a while longer before telling her what they'd be doing. She relished in the fact Rachel was positively squirming.

This was no random ill concocted plan or random attempt at sadism either, no, Quinn had been preparing for this for a _long_  time now. Plotting just how she was going to do it, _climaxing_ to the thought of the crowning moment.

Chet had humiliated her for the last time.

She'd warned him of her vendetta, there was no way he didn't realize her penchant for vengeance and yet he'd still attempted to pull one over on her. It was bad enough that Chet had yanked her along through his divorce pendulum, his constant pussyfooting and scheming to try and get the best of both worlds -- then he'd gone and screwed some intern whose mouth could _apparently_ only stay shut when it was around his cock. Now, she'd discovered a gallery of nude photos on his cellphone. Quinn was no prude but she also wasn't about to have a relationship with an STD ridden scumbag like Chet. Particularly given that half the images on his phone looked like they were from girls who just pledged a sorority -- or some who came fresh out of their senior prom. She could imagine all the things he'd told them, the sweet nothings and promises of fame he'd whispered in their ears bedazzled with fake diamonds and try hard couture knock-offs. He had a type, that type was easy, which perhaps explained why he just couldn't seem to figure Quinn out.

She was still cursing herself for getting involved with him to begin with, for letting any semblance of emotion cloud her judgement. Well, she sure as hell wouldn't be making that mistake again.

Chet had to go, and with the plan Quinn had concocted she knew she could both eliminate him _and_ inherit his title as creator of _Everlasting_. She'd bleed him dry.

"Don't you want to know what you're going to be helping me with?" Her voice is sweet like sugar, honey over nails because the caustic bite is never far behind. Rachel's gaze swims with trepidation but also excitement, the tension is tangible as she hungers to please Quinn. Even if she thinks the underlying temptation is transparent, Quinn can see straight through it. She watches the cogs turn as Rachel tries to decide whether she wants to feign disinterest or not, she's eager but she doesn't want to seem _too_  eager, her teeth nudge at her chapped bottom lip and Quinn eyes her mouth pointedly.

"I mean it's probably better for me to know isn't it?" Rachel sits up slowly, hugging her knees to her chest and tucking her chin in the crook between them. Big brown eyes stare up at her boss, she's bad at hiding things from Quinn.

The other woman smiles, she's gotten exactly what she wanted from Rachel. There's no mistaking the hunger or the desire to please buried beneath layers of self-doubt. "I suppose it would." Canting her head she drags out the silences as long as possible, the belligerent game of cat and mouse.

"You're going to help me dispose of someone whose gotten in my way."

"What do you mean _dispose_ of, Quinn?" 

Already nearing the doorway, she lets her fingers trace a knot in the wood, her smile ambiguous before caging Rachel in with her frigid gaze. "I mean murder, Rachel. You're going to help me murder someone."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Rachel's been slapped with such an outrageous demand by Quinn, what will she do? Will she go through with it? Or find the courage to walk away?

Seeing Chet strapped down to a work bench was surprisingly, not the weirdest thing she'd ever seen -- her sex life had a penchant for reaching above and beyond, however it was the first time she was looking upon a man who knew that his death was looming ever closer. His abdomen was already marred by several gashes where Quinn had apparently not been able to restrain herself. A few drops of blood oozed and trickled down his ribs every time he inhaled.

In this position, she could see his entire naked torso and couldn't really put her finger on what exactly Quinn had found so appealing about him in the first place, though she assumed it had to have been more mental than physical unless the small bulge in his underpants was somehow masquerading as something worth remembering.

Across from him, leaning eerily nonchalant against a table and cleaning her makeshift weaponry was the woman who'd plotted this herself. For the first time since Rachel had arrived at this rundown hovel of a warehouse, she felt herself smile just the slightest. In spite of the circumstances there was something arousing about Quinn being so composed, well and completely terrifying.

 _Murder_. That's what she was here to do.

Somehow it didn't matter how many times Rachel had tried to consolidate that or break it down she couldn't actually grasp the meaning of killing someone else. She wasn't sure if that was a sign of sanity or insanity. She felt... _indifferent_.

And that scared her more than anything else did. If she could resign herself to doing this then what kind of person did that make her?

She watched the strength of Quinn's fingers as she carefully wiped a streak of blood from her cheek with a deliberate swipe of her thumb. Rachel shifted from one foot to the other, her heartbeat changed tempos. 

She swallowed. Hard.

* * *

 

It'd been weeks since that day in her bedroom when Quinn had told her what her little "mission" would be. Long enough that Rachel had begun to think the entire incident was nothing more than some fever dream. Then, earlier that night, just after midnight whilst laying in a sweaty tangle of sheets on yet another sleepless night (she didn't really do much sleeping at all anymore), she'd gotten a text from Quinn.

_You didn't think I'd forgotten did you? Meet me at 111 Borderhouse Lane in 30 minutes. Don't be late._

Literally the only thing on the street was a decrepit old warehouse. Rachel had to give Quinn points for style. She _would_ take the Hollywood route to commit a felony.

* * *

Manipulating Chet had been an easier task than even Quinn had anticipated. She knew his dick controlled his brain but she'd assumed she might have needed to slip him a Valium to loosen him up enough to come with her. Instead just the promise of getting a taste of her cunt was enough to have him drooling like the dog he was. He had no qualms with getting in her car and letting her take him down some gravelly, off the map road.

Before that however, she'd enticed him with a few final kisses and had him sign a few contracts -- the type that would have Chet surrendering all creative rights to Everlasting to her.

_You don't mind...signing just a few of these forms for me do you? It'd be one less thing for me to stress about so I could put my focus solely on us._

A coy smile and a hand on his cock was all it took to have him agreeing to his murder in cold, hard ink.

_Perfect._

She fed him lies about a dirty fantasy where they fucked in an ancient (historical) building, complete with a slightly risqué backstory about the place once being a brothel. He ate it up, drooling all over her hands. 

And she'd let him think that for a little while, let him kiss her, his hot breath that once used to be arousing now made her skin crawl -- but there was something so compelling about letting Chet think this was going to be a night to remember, a fuck to write about -- and then ripping it away from him. So she surrendered to it, his stubby fingers warm as they caressed her thighs but calloused and clumsy, how had she ever found it endearing? He was so heavy and too hot, leaden on top of her and aimless in his maneuvers. Like most men he wanted everything too fast and it left her unfulfilled and unsatisfied more often than not.

She lead him the cusp, that delirious build just before the climax and then she stabbed him once and swift right through the shoulder.

Then he came, right to the beginning of the end.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, what -- I mean what do you want me to do?"

Quinn hadn't spoken yet since Rachel had walked in and she found that shuffling uselessly from side to side was doing nothing to ease the bubbling anxiety.

She heard Chet make a gesture, a plea for help perhaps from behind his gag, neither woman acknowledged it. 

"I mean I see you've already uh, gotten started." Was she a little jealous of that?

Angry welts were visible along the sides of his thighs; she wasn't sure what would have caused those.

 _Maybe you want Quinn to leave marks like that on your body_.

 "How do you know someone's not gonna hear him?"

"No one is going hear him Rachel. Do you think I'm stupid? I know what I'm doing." Her gaze narrowed sharply, Rachel stopped breathing for a second. "Now come over here, I have something I want to show you."

Obediently, Rachel approached.

"You ever used a knife before?"

"I mean for cookin-- No. Not like this."

That answer pleased Quinn and she smirked, the winding lazy smirk that sat regal on her thin mouth, one that Rachel had memorized and could trace in her sleep. "Allow me to show you then." It wasn't really a request.

Her hair raised from her neck and was pulled to the side as Quinn took her place behind, lips hovering a mere inch from her skin. Rachel was shell-shocked, afraid to move, afraid that she would stop. Then she felt the sting of the blade pressing down against her jugular, just enough to draw the barest pinprick of blood. Rachel's throat strained from the pressure and her toes curled from the intensity of the moment.

"Feel that?" Quinn's breath was hot, so hot, and a bead of sweat broke out on the crown of Rachel's forehead. "Y-yeah. I feel it."

"Good. I always liked knvies." The familiartiy and the warmth Quinn held for the weapon in hand aroused several pressing questions but rachel chose to ignore them for the sake of not wanting to distract. Quinn's body was pressed tight against her backside now, every curve slotted against her own. the knife trailed down her neck towards her clavicle, traversing the swell of her right breast. Quinn could easily kill her right now if she wanted to and possibility of death at her hand just made Rachel flush from head to toe.

 "Quinn..."

Her tongue, such finesse as it slid along the shell of her ear and made Rachel stutter out loud. "Just let me show you Rachel." As she spoke, one of her hands had slithered it's way to the button of Rachel's jeans and made haste of it, tantalizing rubbing absentmindedly at her waist. Despite not being aware of it seconds ago she was incredibly aware of it now.

 "See the right side of the neck is no good. Too much _muscle_." The blade slide back upward along the expanse of Rachel's skin, her pulse fluttered beneath it. "There's the external jugular vein but it's not quite as satisfying as the internal one." Her fingers had slid beneath Rachel's panties by this point and were rubbing small circles along her mound, just basking in the heat of Rachel's warm, heavily slickened cunt. "Ex-external, not as good as internal okay."

 "Good girl." The praise made Rachel's teeth sink into her lower lip to hold back a whimper. Swiftly, Quinn gripped hard at the woman's jaw and jerked her head to the right so she could switch to the left side, the knife flattened against the opposing side now. "See here we've got the carotid artery and the internal jugular vein. You sever those and...game over." Her middle finger had sunk down between Rachel's folds, lazily stroking her clit slowly, too slowly. "Q-Quinn.."

 "Shh, shh. See when the jugular vein is cute you start losing blood, and eventually struggle to bring in oxygen...no aspiration..." Rachel wondered how Quinn could make a scientific term like aspiration sound sexy yet she did, she could have read her a health textbook and Rachel would probably cum once per chapter. Quinn was well aware given how wet she was, her finger sliding further down past her engorged clit and teasingly circling her entrance.

 "Jesus Christ." She heard Quinn give a throaty chuckle before jerking the knife down again, this time leaving a deep scratch one that ripped a loud exclamation from Rachel, "Fuck!" She'd merely cut her collarbone but it still stung, she felt blood oozing out along the inseam of her shirt. The pain made her thighs tremble.

 Retracting the weapon slowly, her grip on Rachel's hair tightened, rearing her head back to bare her throat completely where Quinn grinned at her reaction, open-mouthed and breathing heavy. She pinched her clit hard and then pulled her hand free. "More of that later. Now you're going to show me what you can do." She pressed the knife into Rachel's hand and let her thumbnail graze her bottom lip. Relinquishing her, but not complete, as once she was upright again Quinn grabbed Rachel's face in a firm grip with her hand, ensuring their gaze met and Rachel could look nowhere but directly at her. 

 "Prove yourself to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things are starting to heat up a little now that we're getting to the fun stuff. Hope you guys are still interested! As always any comments or kudos are much appreciated!


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